Dice-KKKKKKKKKK

And how long has Dan Shaughnessy been anticipating the opportunity to use THAT headline? Just finished reading (that's right, READING) about Daisuke Matsusaka's debut start for the Red Sox, in which (as you might guess from the headline) he struck out ten to beat the Royals 4-1 and earn his first official American Big League victory. But if it weren't for the $103 million the Red Sox paid for this pitcher ($52 million to the player, and another $51 million to the team he played for in Japan) would anyone have been watching this game at all?

What can I say? I like baseball as much as the next guy, and the Red Sox are practically a religion in my community. And having grown up on the West Coast, I've certainly seen my share of talented Asian athletes (in fact, three of the guys I used to play basketball with every morning on the playground before school in the eighth grade were Japanese-Americans: Mitch Nakano, Brian Nishimoto, and Steve Nara were their names, and one of them even had a shot named after him -- the "Nakano Swish" -- which was a jump shot with perfect arc and rotation that was straight and short so that it just brushed the net without passing through the rim. That was always good for a 30 second argument in the days before "nothing but net" was a playground catch-phrase...) And I also know that professional basketball players, as a group, are the most highly paid athletes in the world, which means that it's a little hypocritical for a bigmouth like me to appear shocked, shocked, when someone who hurls the horsehide (or for that matter, flings the pigskin) finally manages to get paid.

But here's my question? How many people were watching this game yesterday because they wanted to see baseball, and how many were watching simply to see what $103 million looked like on the mound? And how many of those people were rooting for him to succeed, and how many were hoping he would fail? It's just a little too much "sport as spectacle" for my taste. Like watching NASCAR hoping to see the big crash. Or hanging around the Roman Collesium in the heat of the afternoon waiting for a chance to see the Lions devour the Christians.

Come on America -- give me a break! Baseball is supposed to be a game played afternoons in a "ballpark" where you can sit in the sun and eat a hot dog and some peanuts (and maybe drink a beer) while you hide out from the boss and play hooky from work. Or listened to on the radio while sitting on a shady porch drinking lemonade after digging in the garden. And the ball players are supposed to be rough and tumble low-life bums who play "for love of the game," consort with gamblers and bootleggers, and die in abject poverty at the end of their careers as object lessons to the privileged children of East Coast aristocrats whose sons are tempted by the lure of the diamond rather than the promises of Ivy League respectability.

Still, I understand he was pretty impressive. 10 K's. And an arsenal of pitches to rival Sachael Paige. Now, if we can just acquire Ichiro from the Mariners to hit lead-off, roam right field, and steal a few bases for us. Look at Yankees! Here we come!